they say, "it's going to be alright"

you know the times when reality bites, and you just can't stand a single or some facts about something, so that you make believe of another thing from your imagination about what the perfect idea would be? you would be drawn into your utopian belief and you want it to happen so much, that eventually you would believe it as a fact. as if that is what actually happens. after a while, you can no longer draw that thin line between what is real and what's on your mind. your world is in your imagination. your mind is your life.

and you start to pretend about what's happening in your mind. facts are irrelevant.

it starts out with simple things. or ridiculous.

you're not photogenic. wrong. you're charming. take more self pictures.

you can't stand cold. wrong again. use short-sleeves when it's 10° outside.

sometimes it helps you a lot with building what you actually lack.

you suck at public speaking. no way jose, you're a natural. join a debate club.

you don't like reading about history. take two history courses.

other times, it would make you wonder what made you do things in the first place.

you hate economics. take that as a major.

you're awful at math. get a Bsc.

the truth is, most of the times, it's self-destructive.

you don't have enough sleep. stay up until 3am.

you're kind of short of money. not so. buy more things. spend more on entertainment.

you have to catch up with your readings. yes. read more novels. go online.

until the initial fact just dissapear by itself.

you have a lot of free times to spare. you can handle all the duties. a little bit of extra work won't do any harm. get involved more. it's okay to spend more and it's going to be worth it. you don't have to regret. enjoy your life. it's okay to treat yourself more often. go downtown. you can get all the A's that you want. stay up late. get up early. drink more coffee. you are not in a denial. inhale all the opportunities in front of you. you are great. you can do this. cook more. buy more. you're all that. people aren't mad at you. be kind to yourself. they understand. do it. do it. you are your mind. you don't regret. you are going to be what you dream to become. put more work. extend your study. there's no such thing as failure. do it. breathe. slack more. you are going to be alright.

and you have to stop for a moment, take a careful look at everything, and inhale. exhale.

take a tylenol. or two.

because you don't want to admit what you have done to yourself. because you still want to believe everything from your mind. because you're afraid if you stop believing all this you're imagination might as well collide. and you might not believe in yourself again. because you really want to blame someone, but you know that blaming yourself is not a smart step.

and not to stop doing this isn't either.

sort things out. put the ashes together. you might not going to have the original shape back, but at least you can make a pyramid out of it. it's not as beautiful as other shapes, but it's still a concrete shape. which is better than scattered dust.

apple

it begins with the description of the perfect garden of eden, where adam and eve lived in a lush world—heaven, unaware with the distinction between good and evil. the story holds true in three main religions—Judaism, Christianity and Islam—although varies slightly in details and interpretation. adam and eve continued to live with their ignorance; they had no shame, no guilt, no sin. they were naked all of the time and they have no idea of sexual pleasure. they lived blissfully, and one fine day, eve—followed by adam—ate the forbidden fruit of knowledge, the apple, and hell broke loose. they began to feel embarassed being naked in front of each other, and their mind were filled with ideas of guilt, shame, and humiliation. God condemned them for their disobedient and threw them to the earth. adam's apple, if we can simplify, is what makes human human today.

different story unfolds different revelation. around 1200 BC, king priam heard an oracle about his future son who would be the cause of the fall of his kingdom. terrified, he asked one of his guards to abandon his newly-born babyboy in the jungle. the guard pitied the baby and decided to raise him himself in his hut just off the jungle. he named the baby paris. paris grew up to be a very strong, handsome and attractive man without knowing the fact that he's a prince. one day, the god hermes appeared out of nowhere holding an apple. following him were three divine godesses: hera, athene, and aphrodite. hermes asked paris to choose which of the three godesses is the most beautiful, and to then give the apple to the chosen one. long story short, paris finally gave the apple to aphrodite, humiliating the two other godesses and fired up their rage and jealousy. when paris got back to the kingdom as a prince, stole helen of sparta to troy and started the trojan war, it was hera and athene who made sure that the greeks were on the winning side. aphrodite was lost, troy was lost, and paris was dead.

now remember your childhood. remember the story of snow white. how the queen had wished for a daughter as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as an ebony frame. how she finally labored the daughter she had wished for. and by the time the daughter—snow-white, as she's been called— had her seventh birthday, the queen didn't get the same answer from the mirror when she asked, "mirror, mirror, on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all?" the queen was outraged to find her daughter surpassed her beauty, and, surprisingly similar to the story of paris, threw snow white to the jungle. but she was saved by the seven dwarfs. the queen, of course, wasn't too happy when she found out, and thus tried to kill her daughter in various way to no avail. at last, she disguised herself as a peasant, poisoned a lucious red apple to be mixed with other apple, ate half of it and gave the other half to snow white, who innocently took a bite until she's finally dead—at least until the prince find her.

apple. temptation. evil. apple is a figurative of temptation, and this implies its use as an allegory of evil.

an apple a day keeps the doctor away.

i mean, who would blame the doctor?

a note to myself

when you open the door of your room, turn on the heater, step into the whole mess with plenty of works to do, books to read, things to be organized and dinner to be cooked, but find yourself just sit on the sofa doing nothing for the next half an hour, then you start to feel sorry for yourself.

because you just realize that your life isn't all that interesting. or comforting.

not when you can hear the "uh uh" panting over and over again clearly from the room next door.

not when your new foul-mouthed roommate keeps ranting about his shitty job and his used-to-be-happy life nonstop after you greet him "how's your day?" on your way to the kitchen.

or when you find your white shirts splattered with stains right after you take them out from the washing machine.

really, when you find the light outside is still gleaming brightly at one in the morning and shines through your window while you're trying to get some sleep,

and when you wake up the next morning humming a song you find a big fat bald stranger sleeping and snoring on the living room's couch,

then you would definitely feel sorry for yourself.

because you know that you've made the mistakes yourself. the big part of the problems is you. you chose to be like this. because you know you can change it but you just don't. for some lame reasons. invalids.

and you know, that when you keep listening to portishead and bjork and radiohead and supreme beings of leisure, it is not going to change the weather outside.

because the problem is you.

which makes you as the only person who can change everything.

and maybe, dear you, you can start by stop feeling sorry for yourself.

some kind of a revelation

the bus hadn't come yet.

the street was almost deserted. i looked around. a car passing by. the name placard's light of a shop across the street kept blinking. turned on. blink. it says computers n stuff. blink. blink. turned off. the drizzle hadn't stop yet. i looked to my left. an advertisement on the busstop's side—bright yellow, with a picture of a shopping bag full of stuff at the center and a line below it that says we write the book on 'go back to school'. hillside.—has a childish handwriting all over it. it says 'fuckism'.

i sat still and waited. the drizzle hadn't stop. the bus hadn't come yet.

i gazed down, looking at my shoes. i noticed near the stop's console was an earthworm. long and slender, curling. moving back. moving forth. head up. head down. tail up. tail down. left. coiled up. right. coiled down. searching. searching. there's a cigarette-butt next to it. the worm crossed on top of it. made a circle. i could almost heard it hissing. moving forth. moving back. closer. inch by inch. little by little. shrinking. curling again. left. head up. loving the rain, swarming the ground. head down. the bus hadn't come yet.

ten eleven. a guy with a skateboard passed by in front, listening blissfully to his headphone. the placard across kept blinking. not far, a hooded person wearing black baggy sweats and a black baggy jeans walked toward the busstop. checked the bus schedule, and beamed at my direction. i took a closer look at the eyes. the person's a she. probably a highschooler.

"do you know what time it is?" there's a big gap between her front teeth.

i startled for a bit, and took a look at my watch. "uhm, it's ten thirteen."

"okay." she stared blankly, and after a minute or so of gazing to the street, she took a seat beside me.

silence. the drizzle hadn't stop yet.

i began to feel impatient. i sat still and waited. thirty seconds. two minutes. five minutes. seven minutes. seven minutes and forty two seconds. i looked again and again at my watch. the earthworm was still beside the console. the wind was blowing harder. it's colder than it ought to be in this time of the year. i zipped up my jacket and gazed at the street, again.

"do you know what time 28 is supposed to come?"

"twenty eight? i'm not sure. if i'm not mistaken it's ten— lemme..." she stood up and tried to check the schedule again. i hesitated and stood up too.

"that's fine, i'll check it myself," and headed to the schedule, skimming the time table. "oh, it's ten twenty one. it should be here in a minute." i said wearily.

"yeap. there it is," she pointed to the bus which was heading toward us.

"oh, thank god."

"yeah, i know. my house is only like a couple of blocks away but you're just too tired to walk, you know? especially when life' been treating you like shit. not that i'm a slacker or anything, but it's like, right now i just want to go straight home, take a shower and go to bed. you know? that's what you get when you haven't had any sleep in a couple of days."

i opened my mouth, but then closed it again, and let out a weak "uh huh" as a reply. the bus halted exactly in front of us. the door opened. she stepped at the earthworm and went inside. the earthworm's dead. i was heading home.

ost - my life [part 7]

because my life is so full of soundtracks nowadays. even more than previous parts: part one, two, three, four, five, and six.

121. the scene of me making a banner for an event: death cab for cutie - expo '86

122. the scene when she touch me (or i touch her): dublex inc. feat. barbara - tocame

123. the scene when the boy kills his curiosity: black box recorder - the facts of life (jarvis cocker and chocolate layers remix)

124. the scene when i feel, uhm, empty?: ten 2 five - kosong

125. the scene when i have a very strong present feeling: birdie - the original strand

126. the scene of me lying on my bed thinking about all the less-than-beautiful thoughts concerning my life: esthero - swallow me

127. the scene when she asks me to stay but she wants to get away: the wrens - hopeless

128. the scene when everything seems to be uplifting: nuspirit helsinki - skydive

129. the scene when the night is unusually welcoming: kings of convenience - i'd rather dance with you

130. the festive scene: de-phazz - the mambo craze

131. the scene when i wonder who shot john f. kennedy: the postal service - sleeping in

132. the scene when i'm in one of those blue august day: bebel gilberto - august day song

133. the scene of me gazing upon the green scenery: st. etienne - woodcabin

134. the confused scene: bjork - who is it

135. the scene when i almost fall asleep: flunk - your koolest smile

136. the scene when i keep trying, swirariroyo: bunglon - keep on moving

137. the scene when i can't get enough of that first kiss: they might be giants - another first kiss

138. the scene when i can't get enough of that last kiss: ivy - one more last kiss

139. the scene of me in the city by day: nicola conte feat. barbara de dominics - love me 'til sunday

140. the scene when i open up my heart: wei chi - heaven

desired shelter

last days were the hardest, of course. especially because i knew that those prolly be the last time i feel the security for years thereafter. i tried to face upon it casually, and i half-succeeded. half, because that's exactly what i did when i was still surrounded by my significant others, saying all the cumbersome goodbyes. okay, so i won't be back for a couple of years, what's the big deal? nothing matters much, i thought.

then i had that painstakingly butt-numbing journey—7 hours flight to tokyo, 10 hours waiting in narita airport, 11 hours flight to vancouver, and another 3 hours before i arrived at victoria's airport—took a cab and entered my house, my room, my sanctuary. and my heart—swear to god, i could feel it—twitched a little bit. this is what i had been expecting. i dreamed of coming back to the place, as much as i hoped i won't leave my hometown again. yet, now that i stand on it, that dream shattered from my thought. just like that.

so what's new with victoria?

nothing.

same old, same old. i couldn't believe it. this place is exactly how it was when i first arrived a year ago. yes, some things change; like, now there's an alarm in my house (of which i have to enter a pin code after i open the front door), and i have a new roommate, and there's a new medical science building on my campus, new bus schedule, and so on and so forth. but those are practically insignificant, when every other thing stays the same. i come back to my old routine, and i almost forgot that i had a two-month vacation. now it's been two weeks, and i feel as if i've been here for ages. that come-back trip, did it really happen?

it's almost an irony. i thought i was doomed to live in this place. yet, there's no other place on earth where i can feel any safer than here. if i can describe it, i'd say it's a boring heaven (and strangely it doesn't sound like an oxymoron). this place is perfect, yet you can't stop worrying about things. you can get anything you want here, yet i realize i have a problem with insecurity. i can't be any luckier than now, living here. this place is your perfect lush prairie and your perfect confined prison.

but just like what bjork hums on the mouth's cradle, "i need a shelter to build an altar away from all osamas and bushes." and if i have found that shelter, well, who am i to complain?

seven levels of despair

the search each morning
to find the scraps
with which to survive another day

the knowledge on waking
that in this legal wilderness
no right exists

the experience over the years
of nothing getting better
only worse

the humiliation of being able
to change almost nothing
and of seizing upon the almost
which then leads to another impasse

the listening to a thousand promises
which pass inexorably
beside you and yours

the example of those who resist
being bombarded to dust

the weight of your own killed
a weight which closes
innocence for ever
because they are so many

[john berger, france, 14 october 2001]

      a remembrance to those who became the victims of 9/11, of the war in iraq,
      of bali blast '02, of jw marriott blast '03, and of the recent kuningan blast '04
      because we don't understand
      why the despair
      continues